Do Guard Dogs Doggy Paddle?
by TheDramaQueer
Summary: Of all the things Minho had worried about girls doing to his best friend, shoving him off a cliff was probably on the bottom of his list.


Okay, so, here was the deal - Maybe, just maybe, Minho was a little overprotective of his best friend.

It wasn't the Asian's fault, really. Thomas's sense of self-preservation seemed to be practically nonexistent - Always running into Mazes to save people he didn't know and putting his life on the line for no good reason - So it was basically his job, as any good Keeper and friend, to safeguard the boy.

At first, it was just little things...

"Thomas, you need to eat more than a shucking apple. That is NOT a meal."

"What the hell do you mean the last time you drank something was 6 hours ago! We've been running all day!"

"No, Thomas, two minutes of sleep does not count as well rested. Why would you even ask that?"

But admittedly, as time passed and Minho got closer to the boy he might've started to worry about other things too. Like girls.

Like girls in Paradise, who couldn't seem to stop staring at Minho's bestie as if he were a walking filet mignon to be exact.

There were hoards of them. Everyday, when the search groups went out and brought back new groups of survivors to their little safe haven, they always came with masses of clueless bimbos.

They sought out others like themselves from the pre-existing residents of the growing community and grouped together in huge, tittering clusters that burst into poorly muffled giggles whenever Thomas walked by. It was sickening.

Apparently they thought Thomas was broken and tragic in all the right, angst heavy, ways - Not that Minho had been eavesdropping on them to find out exactly why they seemed so enraptured by his best friend or anything - They viewed the boy as a hero who had endured trauma beyond compare and had come to be a broken, beautiful thing for them to mend and cherish.

Minho hated it. Thomas was not broken. The brunette was much stronger than his petty fangirls could possibly imagine. Okay, so maybe he was traumatized. Yeah, he would wake up screaming in the night for many years to come. Yes, he would sob over the friends he'd failed to save and wish he could've done better - But Minho had it covered, thank you very much.

The Asian boy was already there to hold the hurt teen together when he began to fall apart. He already claimed the job of climbing into bed with the smaller male and lulling him back to sleep with his presence when the nightmares came and he was there to wipe the tears from Thomas's cheeks and reassure him that none of their lost companion's blood was on his hands - Not even Newt's.

It was not jealousy that drove Minho to glare daggers into any of the fangirls that dare try to actually approach Thomas - It wasn't - It was simply a platonic concern for his friend's well being. The Asian had seen Thomas betrayed by girls too many times to allow some random hussy to just come waltzing in and ask for the boy's hand in marriage. No shucking way.

Minho understood, Thomas was good looking, with huge hazel eyes that the sun picked golden flecks from. The kid honestly looked like Bambi for shucks sake, but c'mon! The girls didn't even know the boy! Yet, they all wanted to act like they were everything the teen could possibly need, like Thomas had the Flare and they were the mythical cure so many people had died for. They couldn't begin to claim to know the brunette half as well as Minho did.

Were they there when Thomas deciphered the Maze? When he got shot? When he was being mind controlled by Wicked into attacking his friends? Had they held the boy down and promised him they wouldn't let him hurt anybody? Did they know he shot Newt? Had they ever seen Thomas fall apart? No? That's what Minho thought.

The worst part about the whole situation was the fact that Thomas was completely and wholeheartedly oblivious. The brunette always smiled kindly at the masses of chicks trailing in his wake. The ones who swooned at his every move. He even took every baseless complement thrown his way as a friendly gesture. Yeah. Because friends always said, "You have gorgeous eyes," right? (But Minho had to admit in a totally friendly way, Thomas did have gorgeous eyes.)

Thomas even took confessions as jokes for shucks sake! Not that Minho should really be surprised considering he'd experienced that first hand - Pronouncing his undying love to the boy to only receive a snicker and an eye roll in reply, because apparently "I love you" wasn't clear enough for Captain Oblivious.

That was how Minho had earned himself the nickname "Thomas's Guard Dog," a rather suiting title that he pretended to hate a lot more than he actually did whenever he heard it whispered around camp.

The Asian stubbornly told himself he had no clue what he'd possibly done to earn such a name. It probably had nothing to due with the fact that he constantly hovered around the smaller teen like a wolf might stalk around its prey to keep coyotes at bay or that he always pulled the boy away with some inane excuse whenever a chick sounded like she might actually muster up enough nerve to ask him out.

Which is why Minho was now cursing himself for his lax job on Guard Dog duty as some blonde bimbo in a high cut crop top leaving little to the imagination had actually managed to pop the question.

"Hey, Tom, will you go down to the beach with me for a quick second?" The girl managed to get out before Minho could insist that he and Thomas must really be getting to breakfast, leaving him to curse his poor timing as Thomas merely stuttered out an unintelligible "uh."

"Actually, Minho and I were gonna go on a run today." Thomas finally answered hastily after a long moment and Minho shot him a subtle questioning look, as he and Thomas in fact actually had no such plans.

"Well, I'm sure your guard dog could spare you for one tiny minute." The girl who Minho realized he didn't even know the name of insisted eagerly, her voice dripping with a forced sweetness as she reached out and took Thomas's hand before either boy could answer. "You won't mind, right, Minho?" She pressed insistently, the use of his name taking the Asian boy by surprise as he had no clue who this chick even was.

Um. Yes. He would shucking mind.

"Nope. He's all yours." Minho growled reluctantly, because, really, what right had he to Thomas? He couldn't keep everyone else away from his friend forever. It wasn't fair to the younger boy.

"Great!" No-Name chirped excitedly, already beginning to drag a bewildered looking Thomas away towards the path leading to the seashore.

Minho let his lingering gaze trail the pair a little longer than he probably should have but it was because of his relentless staring that he caught Thomas glancing momentarily back at him before he lost sight of the two in the trees. Despite his greatest attempts, Minho was unable to place the expression written across his friend's face, an odd mix of reluctance, confusion… And maybe a hint of hurt?

"Are you just gonna stand there staring all day, loverboy, or am I gonna have to come over their and force feed you these pancakes - 'Cause I ain't about to let these works of art get cold." The familiar voice of Paradise's resident Masterchef broke Minho's staring contest with the foliage his best friend had disappeared into as he hesitantly turned toward Frypan.

It was taking every ounce of willpower the teen possessed not to dart off into the woods and steal Thomas away from that random hoebag and, honestly, eating was probably the last thing on his mind right now. Somewhere after the thousands of scenarios ultimately ending in Thomas getting shucked over by some cunt playing in his head.

"Don't get your panties in a twist." Minho huffed aggravatedly, casting one last, longing glance toward the path to the ocean reluctantly before making his way over to where the cook stood, a plate with a stack of pancakes higher than Mt. Fuji clasped in one hand.

"Jesus, Fry. You think you gave me enough?" Minho scoffed incredulously as he took the plate from the dark skinned boy and sat down at one of the makeshift tables the Builders had constructed under Gally's leadership.

"Well, I put Thomas's on there too since you two usually eat toge… Nevermind." Frypan began but then trailed off as Minho felt his lips tug into a frown against his will, no matter how many times he told his face that he was not upset by the lack of Thomas beside him in the least.

"Dude. If it upsets you that much, just go profess your undying adoration to the kid already." The chef scoffed nonchalantly, the light note of affectionate humor evident in the guy's voice the only thing keeping Minho from punching him in the nose.

"I don't know what you're on about, Fry. Maybe you've caught the Flare." Minho countered in what he hoped was a casual, jovial tone as he carefully left the unhappy I already tried that that sounded in his head unspoken.

"Man, tell that to my mangled fork." Frypan snickered with a roll of his dark eyes and it was only then that Minho noticed the utensil he'd picked up to deliver the cook's carbohydrate smothered meal to his lips was now bent an an unnatural angle in his tight grip.

"If he wants to go to," Minho began but let his words trail off. He refused to say the beach. The beach was him and Thomas's spot, where they laid around in the twilight hours, joking about how much they reminded themselves of Newt and Alby sometimes, remembering the ones they'd lost, and reveling in the fact that they still had each other.

No matter how many times he told himself he had absolutely no right to claim such a thing or be angry about someone else setting on the sand there with his friend, he couldn't convince himself to say it. "...Somewhere, with some chick then who am I to stop him?" He began again, insisting the fact surely as he let the ruined fork drop from his hand to the table with a dull clatter.

"His long time crush." Frypan quipped easily then feigned horror, slapping his hand against his agape mouth and sucking in a faux horrified breath. "Oh no! Did I say that? Oh my god, now maybe my two idiot friends will stop being such shuck idiots that rant endlessly about how amazing the other is to my sorry ass and actually do something about it!" Frypan gasped out in a breathless whisper then pretended to faint, full on flopping his body to the earth below to really sell his act.

"I'm - You mean -" Minho stuttered unintelligibly for a moment, earning an exasperated groan from Frypan before he finally settled on a crowd stopping "What?"

"Oh~ Have you seen his arms, Fry? Like, god I can see every vein when he flexes and, oh my god, have you ever even looked at his hair? Gravity who?" Frypan swooned, batting his lashes in such a way that could only be recognized as a mockery of Thomas's big, Bambi eyes before making a horrid gagging sound in the back of his throat and flopping back to play dead on the ground.

God, Minho would have killed to hear the rest of this conversation when Thomas wasn't down on the beach with some chick wearing a shirt all of two inches wide.

"Go get your mans!" Frypan demanded excitedly, peeking one eye open from his "dead" position and shooing Minho away in a manner that might have been insulting if the cook hadn't just made all of the Asian's wildest dreams come true. As it currently was, the action was all the encouragement Minho needed to burst into a brisk jog that quickly evolved into a full on sprint down the path toward the beach.

Decidedly, he would have to worry about the fact that he heard Frypan yell "Brenda! I told you it wouldn't take no year! You owe me 20 bucks!" later.

They'd set the camp up relatively far from the ocean in case of flooding and on any normal given day it would've taken Minho at least a half hour to make his way down the precarious trail. Today, with the Runner bounding over rocks and never letting his feet rest against the earth for more than a millisecond, it took him all of 12 minutes.

When Minho finally reached his destination, feet skidding on unstable sandy terrain as he struggled to bring his body to a hasty halt, he was surprised to find the white expanse of beach void of life. A seagull pecked at a tiny crab before hurriedly flapping off as the Asian walked forward, gazing around the Thomas-less terrain in bewilderment as he went; and aside from that, the oceanfront was bare.

"Shuck." Minho whispered unhappily to no one in particular as he strolled to the water's edge and shimmied his shoes off before plopping his butt onto the warm sand underfoot. The Asian boy stuck his toes into the cool ocean, letting the chilly water wash over his ankles in tiny waves as he leaned back on his hands, tipping his head back to let the warm rays of sunlight wash over him.

The boy rested under the cliff overlooking the ocean, the structure casting a perfect shadow that just shielded his eyes without depriving the rest of his body from the sun's warming beams of light.

It was in leaning back then, that Minho caught sight of two pairs of feet dangling from the rocky projection above him, one kicking happily while the other rubbed one foot over the other as if uncomfortable. The second pair was definitely Thomas - Please don't ask why Minho had the look of his best friend's feet memorized.

"So, why'd you wanna come up here instead of the beach?" Blondie No-Name's voice met Minho's ears, making him cringe slightly as his fingers flexed irritably in the warm sand. He probably shouldn't eavesdrop on the pair but… Well, maybe he kinda, sorta, really wanted to hear Thomas's answer.

"Eh. The beach is kinda special." Thomas mused thoughtfully, the reply sending warm tingles down Minho's spine as he felt his lips tug up into an uncontrollable grin.

"Hm." The girl answered simply. "You and Minho then?" She finally continued after a moment, sounding slightly dejected - Which was honestly all Minho could've ever hoped for and more. Oh yes, eavesdropping was definitely a good idea.

"What?" Thomas sputtered squeakily, sounding as if someone had just announced his biggest secret to the world through a megaphone atop the Empire State Building.

"Oh, come on! You two are practically inseparable. He never leaves you alone for fucks sake! How is a girl supposed to make a move?" Blondie hissed angrily and, duh, they weren't supposed to make a move. That was the whole point. Minho thought proudly, pleased his guard dogging had been so successful thus far.

Thomas was quiet for a long moment, supposively deciding whether or not to hide his crush or just accept this girl already knew everything. Then the boy finally spoke once more, his voice a soft, quivering whisper that Minho was barely able to catch over the roar of the ocean, "He doesn't like me like that."

Oh, how naive his sweet Thomas was. Minho had been trying to get the boy to fall for him since day one for crying out loud. How does one fail to notice the surplus amount of flexing one's friend found excuses to do in their presence? How?

"Dude. Here I thought you were supposed to be smart." Blondie No Name deadpanned, making Minho hate her a little bit less. Just a little bit mind you, he still wanted to rush out and steal Thomas away from her greedy hands.

"Huh?" Is all Thomas managed to come up with in reply and it was so clueless and hopeful all at the same time that it took every bit of Minho's masculinity to keep him from literally swooning. Thomas was just so adorable, Jesus shuck him. It's a wonder that not everyone who'd ever laid eyes on the kid was in love with him. The rest of the world must be blind. It was the only possible explanation.

"He's always so protective of you, he's pretty much your jealous boyfriend already yet somehow neither of you know it, and he's always trailing after you like a lost puppy, practically growling at anyone who gets too close." The girl rambled irritably as if this were something that had been bothering her for some time and now that she had the opportunity to get it off her chest she was never going to stop. "It's not fair!" She finally concluded with a huff of disappointment that probably shouldn't have made Minho smile quite as wide as it did.

"I'm sorry..?" Thomas replied carefully, obviously unsure of what he was supposed to say in this situation. Minho thought Goodbye then, bitch would probably be a good option.

"You're gonna be."

What?

"What?" Thomas stuttered out, voicing Minho's own internal confusion in a shaky, uncertain voice that was kinda starting to worry the Asian.

"What's he even see in you?" Blondie No Name snarled threateningly and the two pairs of feet disappeared from Minho's view as the people above him sprang into action.

Minho scrambled to his own two feet in an instant, his thoughts going a mile a minute yet never reaching any actual helpful conclusions. Was it he himself the girl was talking about? Did it matter? What was she going to do to Thomas? How could he help his friend?

All tangling, exploding thoughts were brought to an abrupt and untimely demise as the most unexpected thing happened and Minho's mind went totally and completely blank.

Of all the things Minho had worried about girls doing to his best friend, shoving him off a cliff was probably on the bottom of his list - But there he was, stumbling forward as Thomas's startled scream ripped through the air and watching as the boy's body plummeted from the sky.

Minho could do naught but watch on in stunned horror as Thomas flailed wildly, hands grasping at nothing for a brief moment before his body hit the water with a sickening crack and the Runner lost sight of him in the swirling torrents of the ocean's white and blue depths. Shuck.

The Asian was knee deep in icy water in an instant, pushing out against the force of building waves crashing towards shore as fast as possible, which couldn't have been quick enough if you asked him. Abandoning walking, which was far too lagging against the current of the water, Minho dove into the frigid liquid, using his upper body to pull him along and kicking wildly in a frantic attempt to reach the area he'd seen Thomas disappear under - When he'd said Thomas shouldn't trust random girls, they could kill him, he'd been joking. (Sorta)

The Runner couldn't remember if he'd ever even known how to swim in his past life, but the risk paid off and he was able to reach the white crested spot he'd been aiming for in a matter of minutes, the surface still bubbling with ripples from where his friend had hit. Minho used his arms to stay afloat, pushing torrents of liquid down under himself as he searched around the water for his companion anxiously, fear gripping his heart like a vice. He saw no sign of the kid, as if the ocean had simply swallowed him whole before Minho ever got the chance to.

The Asian did the only thing he could think to. He gulped in one, huge breath of air and dove under the arctic water in hopes of retrieving his friend, trying to rope in the fear fueled desperation threatening to engulf his mind. God dammit, he needed to be focused if he was supposed to find the boy.

Minho forced his eyes open against the hot sting of the salt water burning into the orbs. His eyes burned and darkness, foggy gray swirling storms highlighted by deep blues darker than the night, was all that he saw.

However, as the teen swam deeper into the endless depths, his heart beginning to sink more and more as his body did the same, he finally caught sight of Thomas. The younger boy looked as if he were suspended in midair, his limbs floating listlessly upwards and his short brown hair framing his face as it drifted skywards and moved with the current. Minho would've cried for joy had he not been so opposed to swallowing gallons of seawater.

Well, if he wasn't opposed to swallowing gallons of seawater and the fact that Thomas looked shucking dead, that was.

The younger boy's mouth hung agape, tiny bubbles escaping his parted lips and dancing away from his prone form. His honey eyes were half lidded and their hazel depths were distant and unseeing, leaving Minho to pray that the boy had survived the fall and was merely unconscious. The Runner never thought he'd hope Thomas was unconscious. It would be laughable if not for the fact that his best friend's heart may or may not have stopped beating.

Minho kicked his legs forcefully against the tug of the current, pushing his body downward until he could reach Thomas. The Asian gripped the smaller teen by the shirt with both hands and tugged him roughly toward himself, desperately wishing Thomas would react to the action rather than just lay limp in his grip as he did.

The brunette's head tipped back lifelessly against the movement, doing horrible things to Minho's stomach and running a Mack truck into the Asian's already weakening optimism, but he forced himself to ignore the dreary feeling of hopelessness beginning to take hold of his heart.

The Runner stubbornly refused to acknowledge the icy tendrils of fear running over his limbs, leaving him far colder than the frigid ocean water as he held Thomas's slack body tight against his chest and kicked as hard as he could. His lungs were screaming for air and his muscles ached with the strain of holding not only his own weight but also that of his companion. Minho could only be grateful that Thomas was light, though he'd have to make sure the smaller boy ate more when this was all over.

If he's alive, that is. A tiny, pessimistic voice in the back of Minho's mind reminded him pointedly. He ignored it.

Finally, thanks to all those years of running around in a shuck maze giving Minho the leg muscles of a god, they finally broke the surface. The Asian boy sucked in huge, gulping gasps of air as if he were never going to get any again and he almost felt relief at the sensation of having oxygen in his lungs once more, but the realization that Thomas was not doing the same killed any hope of that.

"Shuck. Okay. Okay. You're gonna be okay, Thomas. I'm gonna get us to shore, okay? Okay." Minho huffed breathlessly, using the word okay more times in one sentence than he'd ever had in his entire life, anxiety clawing its way into his voice and giving it a desperate, feral tone as he struggled to keep both of them afloat.

The Asian draped Thomas over himself as best as he could, pulling the still motionless kid's arm across his shoulder and shrugging as much of the boy's weight across his back as he could before putting his other arm around the kid's middle and tugging him close against him.

Had they always been that far from shore? Jesus Shucking Christ, this is how they died. He always knew the girl's trailing Thomas like flies would pursue a garbage truck were bad news but he never expected this. How could he? Who thinks, "Hey, some floozy is probably gonna throw my best friend off a cliff today. I should wear my swim trunks and shucking floaties!"

Minho groaned internally, too exhausted and breathless to actually verbally produce the noise as he pushed the satirical thoughts away and began hauling ass towards the white expanse of sand that looked, to his tired eyes, to be miles away.

Thomas's weight dragged the Asian down, leaving him to suck in many a disgusting mouthful of salt water as he kicked his legs and paddled with the one free arm not circled around the smaller boy's torso, trying desperately to make sure the brunette's own lips stayed above the waterline.

Not that it was doing much good, Thomas still wasn't bothering to breathe - But Minho wasn't thinking about that right now, okay? He couldn't. If he stopped and let those thoughts wash over him, he'd break and they'd both drown.

The welcoming sight of dry land grew closer by the second much to Minho's relief, and even with Thomas beginning to slip from his shoulder he pushed himself into high gear, pure desperation driving him to keep going. His lungs weren't on fire - They were fire - but the Asian couldn't slow down and breathe. He needed to get to the beach.

Except, Minho's life could never be that simple, could it?

"Stop, or I'll shoot!" A voice rang out through the quiet of the still beach landscape, breaking the peaceful atmosphere with a single, shrill call. Of course, there on the beach stood Blondie No Name. Of course, she had a gun pointed straight at them. Of course Minho's grip on Thomas slipped in that very moment. Of shucking course.

Minho moved to grab his friend as he slid off his shoulder and began to submerge in the frigid water, his heart beating a million miles a minute and threatening to literally burst through his rib cage this very moment as he tried to hull the smaller boy back up.

An ear splitting bang ripped through the air and a small plip of water caught Minho's eyes just to the left of him and Thomas, forcing him to freeze. A warning shot.

"I said don't move!" Blondie cried angrily, though her scratchy voice held more despair than anything else and her weapon clearly shook in her hands even from where Minho waded meters away.

"Look, bitch, I don't even know who you are!" Minho spat in what he hoped was a threatening voice that didn't betray the debilitating terror he truly felt at the moment.

"Obviously! I've been trying to catch your attention for months, you idotic asshole, but you're always too busy making goo goo eyes at Pretty Boy there too even notice!" The chick wailed miserably, her voice cracking into a broken sob on the last word. Minho probably would've at least pitied her if it wasn't for the fact that Thomas was currently underwater and she had a gun pointed at the pair preventing Minho from doing a single thing about that. As it was, all he felt was a seething hatred that boiled his blood and a driving desire to smash the girl's nose in.

"Exactly," Minho began tentatively, earning a look of bewilderment from Blondie as he tried a new tactic, hoping against hope it would work. "I need him, okay?" The Asian tried hopefully and for a millisecond of a moment he caught the girl waiver slightly, her eyes softening briefly before her lips tugged downwards into a fierce scowl and she resteadied her grip on the weapon.

"Look, I'm gonna be real honest here. I can't do this without Thomas." Minho continued earnestly but the chick held fast in her determination and he realized it was going to take more than that. "He's my rock, you get me? He's been there through everything - He is everything." The Runner implored anxiously, feeling his heart swell at the truth of his own words. He really should probably have stopped and actually figured out his feelings before the guy he loved was drowning. Live and learn.

"I can't live a life he isn't in, alright? So, if you care about me at all, you're gonna let me drag him up there on that beach before I'm forced to throw myself off the shuck cliff, yeah?" Minho finally concluded, religiously telling himself that all the moisture on his face was due to the ocean water crashing around him. Definitely.

"You promise you won't do anything to me? You won't be mad?" Blondie No Name begged pleadingly, tears now pouring down her face freely as a horrible sob escaped her throat and her hands shook dangerously with the weapon still clasped within them.

"I promise." Minho answered immediately, showing no signs of hesitation whatsoever as he finally pulled Thomas back up around his shoulder, hating how boneless and ragdollish the kid felt in his grip. "It's going to be okay, Thomas. I've got you." Minho promised the smaller boy in a hushed whisper, though it was painfully obvious to all parties involved, which was only one truthfully, that it wasn't really Thomas he was trying to reassure.

The Asian's surety seemed to assure Blondie and she made no threatening moves as Minho swam the last few meters before he was able to plant his feet on the sandy earth underfoot and walk them the remaining distance of water. God, Thomas felt a thousand times more dead when free of the ocean's weightless grip. The entirety of the younger boy's weight fell against a staggering Minho, who could only ignore the lifeless limpness that resulted in him half-dragging, half-carrying his friend for so long.

Eventually, Minho dragged them past the water's edge, immediately laying Thomas down on the dry land the moment water no longer lapped at the Asian's heels. The Runner kneeled beside his companion momentarily, gazing in dull horror at the paleness of his best friend's cheeks and the utter, undeniable stillness about him for a long moment before brushing a gentle hand against Thomas's cheekbone. Why the shuck was he so cold?

Reluctantly, the Runner forced himself to abandon the smaller boy for a moment, rising back into a standing position with every ounce of willpower he could muster. Minho turned back toward Blondie No Name, who quickly took a hesitant step back, holding her weapon defensively out in front of herself in warning. Apparently, she'd gotten smarter in the last five minutes, for she no longer pointed the barrel of the thing at Minho, but rather trained it on the still form of Thomas laying on the ground behind them.

"Hey, I promised, remember?" Minho reminded in what he really hoped was a soothing tone, hands held out in front of himself in a pacifying gesture as he moved carefully toward the girl in slow, precise steps.

Blondie nodded slowly as a hesitant smile began to creep along her face and she cautiously let her weapon begin to lower as Minho approached.

Against his internal enraged screaming, and violent, shoot first tendencies, Minho returned the gesture, forcing his lips to turn upwards as he moved toward the girl as if she were a wounded animal. He kept the look plastered forcefully across his face as he finally neared the woman enough to gently reach a tentative hand out for the weapon, trying to put as much pleading into his dark eyes as possible and refrain from spitting in the chick's face as he so wished he could.

"You really promise?" No Name whimpered squeakily, fear and hope brimming in her wild eyes as she shakily began to pass the weapon over to the Asian.

"I really promise." Minho asserted easily, unsure how he was able to keep his voice controlled as he imagined tearing the girl apart limb from limb. The image made his smile come a little easier and Blondie visibly relaxed before finally placing the gun into the Runner's waiting hand.

The moment the girl released her steely grip on the cool metal, Minho snapped his hand closed around it and threw his arm upward in one smooth motion, sending his elbow flying smack into the bitch's nose.

"Promises, promises." Minho scoffed coldly, smirking pleasantly as Blondie stumbled back a few paces before crumpling to the sandy earth below with a dull thump, knocked unconscious by the blow.

The Asian whipped around the moment he was certain the girl wouldn't rise, the momentary surge of satisfaction he'd felt washed away instantly by the sight of Thomas laying just as still as his attacker.

The Keeper scrambled back to his Runner's side, sending sand flying as he stumbled haphazardly to his knees and grabbed for the boy's hand. Holding his fingers around Thomas's chilly wrist, Minho could sense the steady beat of the brunette's heart, but it was slow and far weaker than Minho would like.

The kid looked awful - Well, not awful , Thomas could never look awful in Minho's eyes - but he looked lifeless. The teen's wet clothes hung limply over his body, clinging to every curve and indent as his wild hair clung to his face and stuck up in ways it shouldn't, sopping with water and clumping into thick locks in the liquid's hold.

The boy's honey eyes still stared blankly at nothing and his lips were starting to turn a light shade of blue against his sickeningly pale skin. He didn't move. His muscled chest lay still and motionless, refusing to rise and fall as it should and absolutely destroying Minho's grip on his sanity.

"Why won't you breathe?" The Asian practically whined, his voice pathetic and needy as he pressed his ear against the boy's still chest, desperate to hear the sound of the kid's lung's in action. Silence. Shuck.

That would be Minho's shucking luck. The boy he loved would survive the Maze, the Scorch, and the collapse of an entire corrupt government for shucks sake just to die once they were finally safe. What the hell, fate? Sure, Minho might be a little bit of an asshole at times but did he really deserve to be given something so perfect and pure just to have it ripped away like this?

Okay. Okay. Enough moping. There had to be something Minho could do. There had to be a reason Thomas wasn't breathing, besides the apparent fact that God hated Minho.

Realization finally struck the Asian through the thick haze of fear and despair threatening to clog his mind - He needed to get the water out of Thomas's lungs.

Minho didn't have the slightest clue how to do anything in the medical field but they were too far from camp to get anyone better. Thomas would be dea- No. Don't think like that. Thomas wouldn't be breathing by the time Minho drug him all the way back to camp. Curse the Builders and their good forethought. Shuck, he had no clue what the hell he was doing.

Desperately trying to remember anything that would aid Minho in this rescue mission of insanity and coming up blank, the Asian did his best to go off what little information he had. He put his hands against Thomas's chest and pushed down in an attempt to force water from his friend's lungs, hoping he was doing something helpful rather than just snapping the smaller boy's fragile rib cage.

Finally, after repeating the pumping action one or two more times, Minho let his hands fall from the smaller boys chest and moved in for phase two. The Runner pinched his companion's nose with one hand and sucked in a huge gulping breath of air, all the while, trying his damndest not to think about how awkward this truly was. Minho steeled himself resolutely and absolutely, did not blush as he fit his lips over Thomas's.

Minho usually wasn't one to be picky, but this wasn't really what he'd had in mind when he said he'd like to kiss Thomas. In all honesty, the Asian had pictured what it would be like to feel his best friend's lips against his own far more times than he would like to admit but those fantasies usually involved a conscious, not half-drowned, Thomas and lacked some random chick with a bloody nose lying two feet away.

Thomas's chest swelled as Minho forced oxygen into the kid's lungs but failed to rise again when Minho pulled back to repeat his earlier motion of slamming his hands frantically into his companion's ribs. Lips back against lips, hands pushing down against lungs. Lips. Hands. Lips. Hands. Again. Again. Nothing.

Shuck. Thomas was going to die. Thomas was going to die before Minho even had a chance to man up and tell him why he was always such a shucking guard dog. Before he got to tell the boy why he was always so angry whenever Teresa, or Brenda, or anyone else with tits for that matter even spoke to the kid. Before Minho could tell him he loved him.

Minho gave one last, dire attempt as he felt his resolve begin to crumble and his eyes started to gather salt water besides that from the ocean that still clung in his lashes. The Asian fit his mouth around the smaller boy's and breathed in with all his might. The unshed tears spilled over as he willed his friend to wake up, straining with every fiber of his being to feel even the slightest twitch of life from the boy underneath him... Stillness. Pure, dead stillness.

Minho let his lips linger against the brunette's for a long moment as a whimper of a sob cracked in the back of his throat and he breathed the sound into the boy's mouth. Everything hurt as the Asian forced himself not to think about how perfectly their lips melded together or how he was never going to get to feel this again, never would get the chance to feel Thomas kiss back.

Until… He did.

Time seemed to slow as Minho caught the faintest brush of Thomas moving his mouth against his own, bringing every thought in the Runner's brain to a tire-screeching, metal-smashing halt as his mind went blank with relief and joy. Instinctually, the Asian pushed his lips back against the teen's, absolutely relishing the taste, the movement, the life of the boy he'd thought he'd lost and fighting back the urge to simply ravish Thomas's mouth after wanting this for So. Shucking. Long.

However, Minho reluctantly forced himself to pull back, disliking the sudden lack of Thomas against his lips but needing to make sure he wasn't imagining it all. He needed to know that his companion was actually alive, not just some figment conjured up by Minho's grief ridden mind.

Minho's eyes met with gorgeous hazel orbs glistening with consciousness and brimming with so many other emotions as he pulled back. Happiness. Relief… Love?

It was nothing like the movies. Thomas did not spring back into life with a gasp, shooting up, bright eyed and alert like the fictions had always promised. Instead, the teen sputtered out a weak cough and a quiet, wet groan as he blinked dazedly at Minho for a moment before shakily lifting one arm in an attempt to touch the older boy, weakly mumbling something that sounded like Minho's name but could also possibly translate to "oh god, just kill me."

Either way, it was enough for Minho. He knew his boy was alive, that's what mattered.

The Keeper tangled his fingers with the hand the kid twitched toward him, bringing the tiniest, most pathetic smile to his Runner's face but it was honestly the most beautiful thing that had ever graced the face of this disgusting planet if you asked Minho.

"Well," Minho began, feeling his own lips tug up into a ridiculous grin that he'd totally intended to be a coy smirk. "This sure isn't how I expected our first kiss to go."


End file.
